|taken by my father, later he turned his photograph into a stained glass piece|
tonight i was watching a movie. she was something special, she was complex, she was she had a messed up relationship with her father. he was still alive. she had a chance. they worked it out. i stood up, tears in my eyes. i went and looked at the painting of the girls, as he called them. ‘how are my girls?’ he’d ask. if i ever decided to part with it, he wanted it. it is in the dining room now – against a gray backdrop, they are near but not as close as they once were. i couldn’t look at them every day. i was living in colorado, and found a junk shop on the side of the road, this trailer that, behind some other things, the girls lay on their side. no price tags. i offered her $20. every place i moved i stuck the painting behind the seat of my little truck. and in my home, they rest, a reminder of the man, a reminder of the years. tonight i didn’t just looked past them, i looked into them, and i remembered. and for a time i allowed myself to crumble.
triggers come fewer and farther between, but they do come. and they will go.